


From Heroes to Whores

by LaVitaInRosa



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Begging, Bottom Doyle, Denying sex, Doyle likes Cordelia, Doyle likes being a Submissive Bottom, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Oblivious Cordelia, Oral Sex, Porn With Devloping Feelings, Porn With Plot, Punishment, Season 1, Slash, Spanking, Sub Doyle, Teasing, The Porn Is the Plot, Top Angel, WILL ADD MORE TAGS AS I UPDATE, We Walk a Fine Line Between Full Con and Dub Con, dom Angel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28110156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaVitaInRosa/pseuds/LaVitaInRosa
Summary: Angel is newly arrived in L.A and on the edge: angry and isolated, frustrated and aroused. So when the PTB send him a messenger urging him to make 'connections', he makes a connection in the only way that will satisfy him.Angel makes Doyle his secret bitch, keeping it hidden from their friends and carrying on right under their noses ... until the night Angelus is unleashed, and all their shameful, dirty little truths come spilling out.There is a plot ... but it's buried in a lot of porn.
Relationships: Angel/Allen Francis Doyle
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. City Of

**Author's Note:**

> This is male/ male slash fic (though with some male/female/male to come) so if you don't like that sort of thing then skip right past. The sex is pretty explicit (definitely NSFW!) but contains nothing too weird and is all pretty consensual. There is a balance between angsty internal monologues, the events of the show and the sex ... but it is weighed heavily in favour of the sex.

Angel was already tense - ready to pop - when he became aware of an uninvited presence in his apartment. The memory of the girl was still sharp and fresh in his mind - her sweat and fear on the air, tangy as salt, and then the ruby red of her blood trickling down from her brow. He had wanted to lick it. He had wanted to taste her. Her fear and her gratitude and her vulnerability had only made her scent more piquant, his longing deeper. He had felt it, warm and electric, in his belly … and lower still. He had wanted to grab her by the neck, shove her against the wall and sink his fangs deep into the soft flesh of her throat … and listen to her whimper.

And the memory of it made his dick throb painfully, he could feel it growing hard - and he wanted nothing more than to palm it and rub away at himself, closing his eyes and remembering the girl and her blood and her sweat and her fear … and then let his memories of her mingle with his memories of Buffy - and the taste of her - until, in great, groaning ecstasy, he would find some relief.

But… there was an uninvited presence in his apartment - and his relief would have to wait.

"Well I like the place. Not much with the view but it's got a nice … _batcave_ sort of an air to it."

Angel stared at the intruder. "Who are you?"

"Doyle."

"You don't smell human." There was more that he could smell about this guy than that. His senses heightened by the girl, his blood up and his balls aching, he could smell the last time this little guy had had sex: in an alley - on all fours, with a man. He could still smell the salt tears and the shame lying heavy on him, he had not been a fully willing participant … although the shame came partly from how much he had enjoyed it.

The little guy - Doyle - kept on talking, Angel sank into the armchair and tried to shut out the throb in his balls and the stink of sex on the man. It was his story, Doyle was telling - the story of Angel's life. A heavily redacted version, the cliff notes - with all of the gore and the horror and the orgies of flesh removed. All of the good stuff.

"OK - now I'm sleepy," he wished that were true - but the hot tightness between his legs made that impossible.

"Well, it's a fairly dull tale. It needs a little sex, is my feeling."

Angel cast a dark look in Doyle's direction, his brow lowered - and he felt his dick twitch inside his pants. Sex was a word best avoided at the moment, the way Angel was feeling... This man had a pretty mouth, his lips were full, and Angel could just imagine them pressed around his shaft, his tongue darting in and out, teasing, circling Angel's one eye … From the stink of him, Angel's cock would not be the first Doyle had sucked…

"...Enter the girl; pretty, little, blonde thing - vampire slayer by trade - and our hero falls madly in love with her…"

Angel shook himself out of his reverie, tried to break his fixation on Doyle's lips and listen to his words instead. It wasn't working. It wasn't Doyle's fault - he'd arrived at a bad time, stinking of sex and shame, when Angel was already at breaking point and straining for release. And now the vampire was turning all that blood lust and arousal onto this small half demon; imagining kissing him, on those full lips, until they were bruised and swollen, teasing at Doyle's lower lip with his teeth, tugging and tearing, and then pushing the smaller man to his knees - and forcing those bruised lips around his straining, throbbing cock.

There was the scraping sound of a blade being unsheathed, Doyle had pulled a dagger from the wall and was holding it up. "...To fight evil and atone for his crimes."

Angel shuddered, tried not to imagine the scraping sound of his zipper, him unsheathing his own weapon - and turning it on this little man. He wondered if Doyle would try and fight him, try and use the dagger he held, if Angel suddenly lunged at him, turned him to the wall and fucked him hard.

Doyle leaned closer. "He's a shadow. A faceless champion of the hapless human race."

… That would be a 'no'. From this close he could smell the desire on the other man. He was trying to contain it, trying to keep it hidden … but Angel could smell how much this man wanted him. And that made him only want this man all the more.

Doyle suddenly pulled away, "say - you wouldn't have a beer of any kind in here, would ya?"

Angel felt a moment's relief as the space between them opened up. "No."

"Oh come on, you must have something besides pig's blood."

Angel got to his feet. "OK so you've told me the story of my life - but since I was there, I already knew. So why aren't I kicking you out?"

Doyle gave him his answer - but it wasn't the right one. Angel knew what the true answer was. It was burning between his legs. Since the half demon had arrived, the overwhelming urge to masturbate had left him, to be replaced with an overwhelming urge to fuck. This man. He had an overwhelming urge to fuck this man, in particular. He wasn't going to throw Doyle out until he'd spread his legs and fucked him like a whore.

But Doyle seemed blissfully unaware of the dangerous undercurrents, of the dark desires pulsating through Angel like a heartbeat and shooting warm tingles direct to his groin, making it ache all the harder. Harder - there was a word he didn't need to think about right now. For all the desire and heat Angel could feel curling off Doyle, the sensitivity did not go both ways - Doyle had no idea Angel felt the same way … and so the half demon was trying to mask his urges. "You know, I'm parched from all this yakking, man - let's go treat me to a Billy Dee."

********

They bought the drink from a liquor store, and Doyle walked through the street - his beer wrapped in a brown, paper bag - necking straight from the bottle. Angel tried not to imagine the neck of the bottle was his own member. But those lips …

During his time as a soulless vampire, Angel had fucked more men than he could count. Out of lust, desire, anger, dominance, boredom… there was no end to the number of reasons he might pin a man down and force himself on them. He had particularly liked it with smaller men though, liked to tower above them - leaning down to kiss them like they were women; enveloping their small hands in his much bigger ones; tugging playfully on their little manhoods and then forcing himself into their tight holes until they cried out - high pitched and in pain. As good as he ever had it with a woman, there was just something extra - more delicious and flavourful - about making a small man his plaything, and this Doyle would have fit the mold perfectly.

It wasn't even that Angelus was more attracted to men than women. He wasn't. He loved the ladies. But there was a frisson with a man, that he couldn't get from a woman - a twisted, downlow tickle he could only get by licking the tears away from the wet cheeks of a weeping forced femme - their shame in being sodomised only further compounded by the shame of crying about it. It was definitely the shame that got Angelus revving.

Not that _he_ had been ashamed. Not ever. He was a proud and swaggering deviant, he took what he liked and fucked what he pleased and if anyone had anything to say about it … he'd rip their throats out.

The shame hadn't come until his soul had been returned. And then he had so much to feel guilt about, so much pain he had caused that he now cared about … his shame about the rapes had more or less been subsumed by his shame about the murders. But there was still shame - it was a part of him that he could never have let Buffy see, would have died rather than have her know about it.

She was an innocent. Good and pure and golden, he looked at her and he saw his redemption. She understood about the murders, she drew the line between Angel and Angelus and forgave the man for what the monster did … but she would not understand these dark urges he had towards other men. She thought he was her romantic hero; her white knight; her Prince Valiant and Mr. Darcy rolled up in one. For years now he had to repress these feelings, because she could not understand that - in this at least - the line between Angel and Angelus was blurred, soft and smudgy and bleeding one into the other. If Angelus was a deviant - then so was Angel, and Buffy would not forgive that. Would not turn a blind eye to the fact that he wanted to bend this Doyle over the hood of that car, tear his pants down, grip a gleaming, white buttock in either hand and force himself inside of him…

He blinked and came out of his reverie, forcing his mind onto what Doyle had just said - something about a mission. "I want to know who sent you," he said. Whoever they were - they had not sent him at the right time, if they wanted anything good to come out of this.

"I'm honestly not sure who sent me," Doyle explained, with a shrug. "They don't speak to me direct. I get - visions. Which is to say great, splitting migraines that come with pictures. A name. A face. I just know whoever sends them is more powerful than you or me, and they're just trying to make things right."

"Why me?"

"Because you've got potential. And the balance sheet aint exactly in your favour."

He could make that balance sheet one worse right now. He wanted to do it. Neither of them were strangers to fucking men in the street - he could just reach out and grab … "well, why you?" he asked, instead.

Doyle looked awkward, his eyes darkened and he shifted uncomfortably. "We all got something to atone for."

Angel wondered what that was in Doyle's case. He wasn't being sent visions because he had been taken in an alley, on all fours, his pants around his ankles - and enjoyed it. Although the scent of shame on the half demon, the humiliation that cut into his soul about it, was so thick Angel could almost taste it; that wasn't why the powers were punishing him. But Angel was willing to bet that whatever misstep had led him to plying sexual favours, whatever path he had taken that had ended in him whoring himself out to dangerous men in stinking, desperate places, the start of it - the very first footstep - was what he was atoning for. He wondered what it could be. What one moment could take a man and make him a whore. He tried not to feel pleased it had happened, tried to stem his arousal, tried to hold himself back from making Doyle _his_ whore.

Doyle was still oblivious. He had reached into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper with a name and a place on it. He had had a vision. There was a damsel in distress. It was time for Angel to put his dark fantasies, his throbbing urges, to one side and strap on his shining armour.

********

His hands couldn't stop shaking, when he reached down and touched the warm sticky redness seeping from Tina's neck. Her body was cold, her skin was pallid, the only splash of colour in this dank and miserable place that gleaming ribbon of crimson. He had never been this close to the edge, not since his first few nights with his soul, not in all these years - over a century, he had never trembled on the edge of the precipice and stared down into the abyss like now. He was furious. He wanted to taste her - wanted to lick the blood from his fingers and then sate his hunger by gorging at her neck. She was already dead. It wouldn't hurt her. She would never know …

Instead he took his anger out on Doyle. Denying himself a feed, he needed an outlet somewhere - and he found it in Doyle. He threw the half demon against the wall, pinning him there by the neck. "She's dead!" he yelled into his face. "Why did you send me there if I couldn't save her?"

"Gerroff me! I didn't know!" He tried to shove Angel away, but of course he did not have the strength. Even if they were both human, a man of Doyle's size would be powerless against a man of Angel's … and Angel had super strength. Doyle was completely at his mercy.

Doyle continued to struggle, Angel held him in place - the fear came off the smaller man in waves and it was intoxicating. It made Angel's head spin, it riled him up. It made him want to take all his frustration and anger and bury it in Doyle. "Why did you send me out to fail?" He demanded, slamming Doyle against the wall once more.

"I didn't know - please."

The way he wriggled and squirmed, trying to free himself, reminded Angel of all those other small men, over the centuries - and suddenly he could not hold himself back, knew only one way to stop this driving anger.

He pushed Doyle against the wall, once more, pinning him place, and then pressed his lips to the other man - hard. Doyle struggled a little, but Angel kept pressing, chewing on Doyle's lower lip, the way he had wanted to when they first met - prying his lips apart until he could force his tongue inside. He deepened the kiss, pulling Doyle away from the wall, now, and grasping his face in his hands - cupping his cheeks, pressing and chewing and increasing the pressure.

When he felt Doyle reluctantly begin to kiss him back - hesitant at first and then more enthusiastic - he gave a bitter laugh, pulled away and threw Doyle away from himself.

Doyle stumbled a little, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand - spitting as if to get the taste out of his mouth. "Why did you -"

But his attempt at disgust only made Angel laugh harder. He had felt Doyle kiss him back, felt the bulge begin to grow inside his pants. "I knew you wanted it, wanted me," he said.

"I don't - I'm not -"

"Oh you don't wanna want it - I know that - I can smell that, I can practically taste it. You like being with men, don't you, Doyle? You don't wanna like it, you don't think you should like it. But you _love_ it."

"I-"

"And you wanna be with me." He grabbed hold of Doyle and kissed him again. Then he looked down at him mockingly. "well, don't you? - Say 'no' if you mean 'no'."

But Doyle didn't say anything, though he couldn't look Angel in the eye. Angel laughed again - a short, sharp bark - and then threw Doyle so he landed face down on the bed.

Before the half demon could scramble back up again, Angel was on top of him, pinning him flat to the mattress. "You're not going anywhere - not unless you say 'no'."

Doyle didn't say anything.

Angel grinned, "thought as much," and then he reached round, unbuckled Doyle's pants and ragged them down to his ankles. Doyle gave a muffled yelp, but he still didn't say 'no.'

Angel stared down at Doyle's exposed, pale buttocks, he reached a hand out and caressed the left one. Doyle quivered beneath him. Angel squeezed harder and Doyle gasped. "Nice ass," Angel said, leaning forward to hiss in his ear, and then he pulled his cheeks apart. "Nice ass _hole_." He leaned down and flicked his tongue over Doyle's opening. Doyle whimpered, his legs began to tremble - making his butt bob and down - causing Angel's blood to rev even harder. His anger over Tina had been electrifying, but it was turning into nothing but arousal now, the longer he looked at and caressed Doyle's butt the harder he became, and soon fucking Doyle was all he could think about. "Can't wait to get inside," he said - squeezing Doyle's ass cheek more forcefully.

Despite the shaking, Doyle shifted himself, raising himself slightly onto his knees to allow Angel easier access - though his face was still pressed into the pillow. He gripped the pillow with both hands, and felt his own erection begin to swell as he waited - ass in the air - for Angel to take him.

They had no lube - and so Angel stroked and caressed and massaged around Doyle's hole, licking it and rubbing it to get him to relax. Doyle continued to quiver - his erection was painful now, and hitting against his belly. And then Angel spat on his hand and rubbed it up the length of his shaft, rubbing some more around Doyle's opening and then eased himself inside.

Doyle bit down on the pillow. Angel was large - and it felt like he was being split in two - and then the vampire was fully inside, the tip of his manhood nudging Doyle's prostate, stimulating it - making it seem to vibrate with pleasure.

Doyle moaned, and moved one of his hands to his own stiff and aching cock - meaning to rub himself into ecstasy … but Angel caught hold of his wrist - and moved his hand back to the pillow. "No," he whispered in his ear. "You don't touch that."

Doyle groaned - his cock was throbbing, agony and ecstasy crashing against each other now, and he tried to move his hand back to pleasure himself once again. But Angel caught it - just like last time. "Nuhuh." He put Doyle's hand back on the pillow, and maintained his grip on his wrist, doing the same with the other. He leaned his full weight against the other man, pressing him down onto the mattress, pinning him in place.

Doyle cried out as his erection was trapped painfully between his body and the bed - and all his and Angel's weight pressing down on it.

"This is how it's going to be," Angel whispered to him, right in his ear - as the vampire continued to thrust in and out. "You're going to lie there and take it - like a little whore. And you're going to like it - like a little whore. And you don't ever touch your manhood when I'm inside of you - because when I'm inside of you - you don't have one. You're my little whore - understand?"

He thrust harder, grazing Doyle's G spot so the half demon cried out in pleasure and then nodded, agreeing to Angel's demands.

"We can stop whenever you want," Angel said, nuzzling into Doyle's neck - kissing and nibbling. "All you have to say is 'no'."

Doyle said nothing.

Angel smirked - and thrust again, tightening his grip on Doyle's wrists. "You like this don't you?" he whispered.

Doyle nodded, face down in the pillow.

Angel could smell the shame coming off him: "Say it."

Doyle raised his head. "I like it." Tears of humiliation sprung into his eyes.

"What do you like?"

"Being fucked." Doyle gasped. "Being a whore." The tears began to streak down his face, and Angel delightedly leaned forward to lick one. It tasted salty.

"Whose whore?" he thrust one last time.

"Your whore!" Doyle screamed out, as an explosion of pleasure ripped through his body. His fluid burst from the tip of his swollen and tortured cock, splashing across his belly and up his shirt front. His body went limp, just as Angel ejaculated inside of him, filling him with warm seed, and he collapsed face first into the pillow; weeping in shamed and humiliated ecstasy.

Angel pulled out and then collapsed on top of him, still gripping hold of his wrists. They lay there for a moment, Angel still pressed against Doyle's bare ass; Doyle panting and crying, sweating and exhausted.

"Here's what's going to happen," Angel said. His voice was suddenly business like. He had sated his lust and wanted to get back to his anger. "We're gonna get out of bed - you're gonna pull your damn pants up - and we're not gonna talk about this. You're gonna ask around, find that car - Grey 87 black Mercedes 300E. It's gonna need some serious work on the bumper - call the chop shops. That car leads me to Stacy, Stacy leads me to Russell. Do it."

He pulled himself off Doyle, allowing the other man to get up. Doyle hastily pulled his pants back up, dashing his tears away with the back of his hand, not daring to meet Angel's eye. He rearranged his shirt, tugging it back into place, though there was little he could do about the wet stain splashed across it, and left the apartment, struggling to walk straight - his ass on pleasurable fire, his cheeks burning with shame.

********

Russell was dead - but the mission wasn't over. There were a lot of people who needed saving in this city. Doyle asked him if he was game. He was - but at a price. He took Doyle downstairs, leaving Cordelia up in the office - cleaning happily.

Doyle looked at him, unsure what was going on - slightly fearful as well, Angel could smell it. It was delicious. Good as his word, Doyle had not mentioned the other night. And that was how it was gonna be - but that didn't mean Angel was done with him.

He looked Doyle up and down. "Take your clothes off," he said. "All of them."

"But - " Doyle glanced at the stairs, which led up to the office - where Cordelia was. He looked panicked. It was obvious what he was thinking.

Angel smirked. "And therein lies the fun. Strip… unless you just wanna walk out and forget it?" He arched his eyebrow, daring Doyle to walk away, taunting him for wanting to stay.

Doyle stayed put. With another uncomfortable glance at the stairs, he pulled his shirt over his hand and then began to unbutton his pants. He dropped them to the floor - and then slid off his shoes and balanced on one foot to take off his sock, repeating the maneuver with his other foot when he was done. Now he stood there in only his tee and y fronts.

"All of them," Angel said.

Hesitantly, Doyle removed his tee and then - even more hesitantly - divested himself of his underwear. Then he stood in front of Angel, naked, and unable to meet the vampire's eyes.

Angel looked him up and down again, his eyes raking across a belly rounded by drink and noting the thick, black, curling hair that covered Doyle's entire front. The half demon's nipples protruded weirdly, not quite little man tits, but not normal. Angel tweaked the left one. Doyle blushed and bit his lip to stop himself from crying.

His humiliation smelled so good. As did his enjoyment. Angel wanted more of it. He reached out and tugged on Doyle's cock. "Is that it?" he smirked. "Is this all your packing?"

Doyle blushed deeper, turning a flaming red - and blinked to hold back the tears.

"I can see why you like taking it in the ass from men - this mustn't get you very far with the ladies." He cupped Doyle's balls. "Nice balls, though." He squeezed. Doyle moaned, but he still couldn't meet Angel's eye.

"Turn around." Angel said, letting go of his balls. Doyle did so, slowly - so his back was to Angel. Angel ran an appreciative finger down the length of Doyle's ass and watched as Doyle quivered. "Bend over."

He did - bending just slightly at the waist, raising his ass in the air by only a couple of inches.

"No," Angel slapped him - right on the butt cheek - leaving a red hand print. "Right over - touch your toes if you can."

After a moment, an awkward pause, Doyle bent as far forward as he could. His butt came up as his head went down.

"Spread your cheeks," Angel said - he grinned as he smelt salt on the air - and knew that Doyle was crying.

Doyle paused - and then gripped his butt cheeks, pulling them apart; shifting his balance now his hands were behind him. And then he felt a cold draught as Angel took a step back, leaving him standing there alone, bare ass high in the air, buttocks parted by his hands. He could feel Angel's eyes on him the whole time though - and that made his blood run quick and warm right to his groin. His tears fell harder. The longer he stood there, exposed, the more turned on he became - and the harder he cried. It was a good thing his head was already down, because the shame of being aroused by this would have bowed it.

He heard Cordelia's footsteps over head - and remembered she was just a few feet away, could interrupt at any moment and find him standing there: naked, bent over, ass cheeks spread and his manhole displayed to the world. And Angel watching him. And, to his utter humiliation, the thought turned him on even more. He felt his cock begin to twitch - though he knew better than to touch it. He squirmed under the heat and pressure building in his groin, disgusted at himself for enjoying this, disgusted that a part of him wanted to be found like this - but the shame just made his dick harder.

His legs were starting to hurt from the strain of holding himself in place. He didn't think he could maintain this stance much longer. And then - just when he thought he would have to stand up or collapse - he felt the draught go away, and Angel move back closer. Angel's fingers circled his hole, his other hand caressing his butt. "You were born for this," Angel said, "yours is the most perfect asshole I've ever fucked. And I've fucked a lot."

Doyle said nothing - and closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of Angel's hands on him, even as the tears ran down his face.

He suddenly felt something cold and slick and liquid rubbed against his opening. Angel's fingers were inside of him, then - and he felt the same viscous fluid rubbed inside, and he understood: they were using lubricant this time.

And then he heard a zipper, and then Angel was deep inside him once more. Angel held Doyle by his hips - one thumb pressing into each butt cheek, and thrust inside of him - slowly at first. "This is how it's going to work," Angel said to him. "I'm going to go out into the city and save the people - all of them. And then I'm going to come back here and fuck you however I please." He began to thrust faster. "You're supposed to be my connection to the world and _this_ -" he thrust harder - plunging as far into Doyle as he could reach. Doyle moaned, his legs were shaking. "-is how I am choosing to connect."

He was going faster and faster now. The faster he went the more Doyle's bare, pale ass humped up and down. "You will be my bitch; my pretty, little whore - and no one will know about it. Not ever. We don't speak about it. We don't allude to it. We don't make goo goo eyes at each other in public. We can be three feet from Cordy, I can be fucking you like your my new bride on our wedding night, and she doesn't know - is that clear?"

Doyle nodded, though his head was down by his knees.

"And this is forever. You can make your puppy dog eyes at Cordy, moon over her - hell, marry her - I don't care. But you will be my bitch, you will be available to fuck at all times, I can do what I want to you - until one of us is dead." He was jackrabbiting in and out now, gripping Doyle so tight he was leaving prints - while Doyle's ass bounced so fast it blurred, and the half demon was moaning in a pleasure he was ashamed to feel, his knees beginning to buckle.

"You are my whore - and this is our secret," Angel told him. "You game?" He repeated Doyle's words back to him.

"I'm game." Doyle nodded and gasped, his knees finally gave way and he fell to the floor just as Angel came inside of him.

Angel disengaged, did his fly up and walked away. "Good," he said, he left Doyle collapsed, naked and crying, on the floor - and went back upstairs to Cordelia.


	2. Lonely Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be careful what you beg for...

Cordelia had left the office, saying she needed to pick something up - but she would be back. Realising they were alone, Angel put his book down, took his feet down from his desk and walked through into the outer office, where Doyle was reading the paper. Without a word, he tugged the paper from Doyle's grip, took hold of his hand and pulled him to his feet - towing him along, through the offices and down the stairs into the apartment. Doyle knew better than to say anything.

Angel remained silent until they reached his bedroom, and then he wrapped his arms around the smaller man and kissed him, hard - their lips bumping together, teasing and hungry. Angel pushed his tongue into Doyle's mouth and felt Doyle part his lips in welcome; searching and exploring with his own tongue. And then Angel pulled away - Doyle's lips were already starting to swell in that way that made the vampire's cock harden. "We don't have long before Cordelia gets back," he told his little bitch, "we don't want to be discovered."

He reached out and undid some of the buttons on Doyle's shirt, before pulling the whole thing over his head. Then he pulled his t-shirt off him and stared hungrily at the man in front of him. He lowered his head and sucked on one of Doyle's protruding nipples. "I love your little man tits", he murmured, grazing Doyle's skin with his teeth. Doyle blushed and bit his lip - but still didn't say anything.

Then Angel pulled back, "shoes and socks off," he commanded. Once Doyle was barefoot, the vampire then unbuckled the other man's belt and unbuttoned his pants - allowing them to fall to the floor. Then, with a mischievous grin, he ran his fingers under the waistband of Doyle's underwear and then yanked them down - hard. Once Doyle was standing in front of him, completely bare, Angel kissed him again. Doyle went up onto his tiptoes and wrapped his arms around Angel's neck, their kissing intensified. Their lips grew hot and Doyle's breath became short and Angel could feel his heart beat - thumping faster and faster as their lips crashed against each other, pushing and pressing - softer and then harder, always hot. The vampire bit on Doyle's lower lip, teasing it with his teeth and Doyle moaned. And then Angel let his hands wander south, over Doyle's bare skin, clutching him around the waist for a moment, pushing their hips together - and then he lowered them further and began to caress Doyle's bare bottom. Doyle moaned again. They both felt his little cock, pressed between them, twitch into life and grow hard. He dug his hips further into Angel and thrust them, grinding his dick against Angel's body to pleasure himself, whilst Angel squeezed his ass tighter and tighter...

And then Angel let go. "We don't have time for that" he said, stepping back. Doyle whimpered as the pressure on his cock dissipated - and he was left erect, throbbing and unsatisfied. But he knew better than to complain. A little bitch didn't complain. A little bitch didn't get a say in what they did. And he was a little bitch. The thought flooded him with hot shame, which only made his dick throb harder. He clenched his fists to stop himself from touching himself. He wasn't allowed to touch himself when he was with Angel - that was one of Angel's rules. And a little bitch followed the rules. He took a deep breath and bit down on his lip, trying to control the agonising, titillating pressure in his groin.

Meanwhile, Angel had unzipped his own pants and taken out his own cock. He gave it a few strokes, until it became hard - and Doyle groaned, wishing he could stroke his own. He eyed Angel's cock, wondering what the vampire was planning to do to him with it - and found himself breathless with wanting, aching for the other man's dick. More shame flooded through him, and Angel grinned - smelling it on the air. Nothing smelled quite so good as Doyle's shame, it suffused the room like a perfume - heady and intoxicating, overwhelming Angel's senses and making him feel an erotic surge of dominance and power. He wanted more, to make it more intense - to make himself more powerful and Doyle even more humiliated.

Now his dick was erect, he took hold of it in his left hand, gripping it - showing how he could not quite contain the full length of his manhood, it was too big for him to handle one handed. Then he reached out with his right thumb and forefinger and tweaked Doyle's much smaller manhood, holding onto it at the tip and pinching. "You see why you're the bitch?" he asked, his voice husky.

Doyle nodded, not meeting his eyes, his cheeks stained red - flaming with the heat of his degradation.

"Look at me" Angel demanded.

Reluctantly, Doyle looked up - and met his eyes, squirming with embarrassment.

"What are you?" Angel asked him.

"I'm the bitch" he mumbled.

"I didn't catch that - louder."

"I'm the bitch."

"And do you like it?"

Doyle looked mortified. His face burned scarlet, the blush spread through him, seeping down his neck and chest, flooding his belly and crashing into his groin, where his little cock twitched again - still held in Angel's pincer grip. Tears stood out in his eyes - but Angel would not let him look away - and slowly ... he nodded. "I like it" he whispered.

"What do you like?"

"Being a bitch."

"As a full sentence."

He swallowed, and breathed in sharply. His cock was twinging, pulsating between Angel's fingers. He felt the first tear roll from his eye and down his cheek. "I like being a bitch."

"You're sure? Because if you don't like it we can stop." He stroked Doyle's cock - just once. Doyle closed his eyes, his whole body tensing, and he groaned loudly in frustrated desire. "Do you want us to stop, Doyle?" Angel asked. "Is that what you want - you little bitch, you pretty, little whore?"

Tears ran down from under Doyle's closed eyelids. But he shook his head. "Please don't stop," he whispered.

Angel grinned - and kissed Doyle again, aggressively, on the mouth - before pulling away, putting a hand on each of Doyle's shoulders and forcing the smaller man down to the floor, onto his knees. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed and opened his legs wide. "You know what to do" he said "I know you've done this before. That pretty, whore mouth was made for this; the way your round, fat, little arse was made to be fucked."

Angel smiled in satisfied pleasure as he sensed the fresh wave of humiliation cascade from Doyle, his own dick twitched with the sudden charge of power that came from Doyle's mortification.

Doyle said nothing, though his tears still flowed freely as he crawled between Angel's open legs and took the vampire's shaft in his hand.

Angel closed his eyes in pleasure, as he felt Doyle's hand work up and down his length. "Are you jealous?" he asked "would you like one like this?"

Doyle didn't answer, and Angel grinned in sudden wicked delight as he realised. "You don't want a big cock," he taunted. "You don't need one - you just want another man to use his big cock on you." He didn't need an answer. The tangy scent of extra shame told him he was dead on the money. "Now suck it" he said.

Doyle gave a thready, gaspy inhalation of breath, and then - still silently weeping - guided Angel's cock into his mouth. He just brushed the tip of it with his lips at first - and Angel opened his eyes and watched those bruised and swollen whore lips, so pretty and pink, gently kiss and caress his ending. Doyle's tongue flicked out - darting into Angel's opening and then back out again and at the same time he ran a single finger down the full length of the shaft - from base to tip. Angel shuddered with pleasure.

Doyle's tongue continued to lick and swirl right around Angel's tip - tickling and teasing - and then, looking up and making full eye contact, Doyle parted his lips wider and took all of Angel into his mouth. He sucked, moving his lips up and down and grazing Angel's skin ever so slightly with his teeth. The pressure began to build, Doyle sucked harder and Angel could feel the climax surging towards him like the crest of a wave. But just before it broke, Doyle removed his mouth, the pressure vanished - and the smaller man went back to kissing and caressing, nudging those pretty, swollen lips against Angel's tip. His tongue flicked out again.

Angel gasped, and then chuckled. "God, you tricky, little whore. I knew you were born for this."

Doyle lowered his eyes, the shame was coming off of him as heat - it was palpable. He flicked his tongue, licking in concentric circles around Angel's opening - closer and closer - teasing going in, before pulling back at the last second - over and over again. Angel began to moan, his legs to tremble. Doyle nibbled and kissed his ending, his tongue still flicking and licking. Angel's body was tensing - the muscles in his legs - resting against Doyle's naked, crouched body, were strained. Doyle suddenly darted his tongue right into Angel's little hole - but before the vampire could even react, it was back out and Doyle's full lips were pressed against Angel's shaft and he was sucking harder than before. Angel fell back onto the bed, his eyes rolling up in his head - the climax was coming, it was coming , it was... dear God, if the little bitch pulled back this time he would rip his head off. It was coming it was coming it was... just as the shuddering wave of ecstasy broke over him, Doyle reached out and squeezed Angel's balls, massaging and manipulating them in his hand. Angel bellowed in relief as he shot his load right into Doyle's mouth.

The after shock crashed through him, leaving him too weak to even sit up and check that the little whore had swallowed. "Oh God," he gasped. "Oh god". After a century alone, years on the streets and then three years in a chaste courtship with Buffy, suddenly having a little bitch to fuck, a man whore to pleasure him whenever he wanted, was like sensational overload. He felt the waves of pleasure begin to recede and he gasped, blinking - getting a hold of himself once more. He opened his mouth to speak - and then clamped his lips firmly together. He had nearly said 'thank you'. He had nearly expressed his gratitude. But you didn't thank a bitch. You kept them in their place.

He felt Doyle move from down by his feet - standing back up. He opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbow. "Who said you could get up?"

Doyle swallowed, he glanced down - at where is own little erection was still sticking, swollen, into his belly. Angel looked down at it as well, and realised his little bitch had been hard all this time. It must be killing him. They made eye contact - and Doyle's hand flinched, moving towards his cock.

"Don't even think about it" Angel said to him, shaking his head. "What have I said? You _never_ touch your dick in front of me. As far as we're concerned - you don't have one."

Doyle blushed a deep crimson. "You touched it" he mumbled.

Angel reached out and grabbed hold of it - pinching the end hard until Doyle squealed. "I _can_ touch it. If I wanna laugh at your tiny manhood, i will. But unless that's what I'm doing...' he pinched again, "you're dickless. You hear? A dickless little bitch. Don't you _ever_ think about touching it in front of me." He let go - and Doyle's little dick sprang back up. They both stared at it. "So - what are you going to do about that?" Angel asked him. He got to his feet, and zipped up his own pants. The two men stared at each other for a moment, a mocking challenge in Angels eye - and then Doyle broke contact, ducked his head and walked to the now vacated bed, crawling onto it and coming to a stop on all fours.

Angel stayed where he was and stared at him.

When nothing happened, Doyle glanced over is shoulder. Then he thrust his bare butt out, pushing it in Angel's direction. Angel still didn't move. He just folded his arms and smirked in amusement.

Doyle grunted and thrust his ass out again, retracting it slightly and then pushing it further out - further up. His agonised erection screamed with frustration and he dipped his hips again, before thrusting his bare, little bottom back out at Angel. He kept on going, thrusting out further and further, his ass getting higher and higher until his face was buried in the pillows and his manhole practically pointed at the ceiling. He bit into the pillow, still thrusting his hips.

Angel stood and watched Doyle's rounded white buttocks bob up and down, thrusting out at him like a bitch on heat. Eventually, when he could hear Doyle's teeth biting into the cotton of his bedding, he decided to speak. "Is there a reason you're thrusting your plump, little ass at me?" he asked.

Doyle groaned. Angel sat down beside him on the bed. "Is there something you want?"

Another groan. "Angel, man."

"Say it. Say what you want. Tell me."

"Please."

"Please what?" He reached out and let his fingertips tickle down Doyle's bare backside. Tracing a lazy pattern with one finger on his presented ass.

"You know what."

A delicious scent of humiliation wafted through the air. He was too ashamed to ask - and too aroused not to.

"I _don't_ know." He walked his fingers towards Doyle's hole.

Doyle groaned, he bit harder on the bed covers and then lifted his head and cried out: "fuck me! Please, Angel. Fuck me."

"You want really want me to fuck you?"

He was still gyrating his hips, thrusting his ass in the air as he tried to ease some of the agony of his arousal. "Yes. God. Yes. Please, Angel, fuck me." He felt his little dick throb painfully, his balls were about ready to explode and his hole felt empty - yawning wide and ready to receive a massive cock. He felt like nothing would satisfy him until he was deep filled.

Angel ran his finger down from Doyle's opening, down to his taint. Tickling him just behind his balls. Doyle squealed and bit the bedding again. Tears were streaming down his face and Angel could smell all the different emotions: agony and arousal and frustration and deep, abiding shame. "Why do you want me to fuck you?"

"Because -"

"Because what?" He grinned wickedly, enjoying the view of Doyle's rounded, bare bottom thrusting rhythmically towards him, so his balls shook. He licked his lips at the manhole exposed and presented just for him.

"Because I like it." He couldn't stop weeping - so ashamed and so aroused and his agony so intense, the pleasure and the pain blended together so all he could do was cry. "Because I'm your little bitch and I like it when you fuck me."

"Just like it?"

"Love it. _I love it when you fuck me._ "

Angel pressed his thumb against Doyle's hole and grinned when he heard the groan. "And how do you want me to fuck you?"

Doyle was now thrusting his butt up and down so fast that Angel had trouble keeping his fingers in place. He was ready to pop, ready to scream. "Hard!" he cried out - the tears still streaming down his face. "Angel, fuck me hard. Fuck me fast. Make me your whore. Split me in two, just **FUCK ME!"**

Angel ran his finger back up Doyle's taint, so the smaller man quivered, and then he retracted his hand. "No." He got back to his feet. "Cordelia will back in a minute." He cast a disgusted look at the naked half demon, with his ass high in the air and his cheeks wide open - presenting his hole to anyone who would fuck him. "Do you really want her to find you like that? Get dressed you dirty, little whore."

Doyle's butt dropped down, and he lay flat on the bed. He turned his head to stare at Angel - his mouth dropped open in protest. "But-" the swelling and throbbing in his groin became too much and he started to grind his hips against the mattress, humping the bed - hoping to find relief that way. Though his hole still yawned empty, aching to be filled.

Angel reached down and pulled the naked, humping man to his feet. "Stop it. Get dressed." He thrust Doyle's y fronts into the smaller man's hand. "Put these on."

"But- " he quailed under a stern glare from Angel, and pulled his underwear back on. His erection caused them to tent. He stared down at it, and then back up at Angel.

Angel only smirked. "figure something out," he said, and headed back to the stairs.

Left alone in the apartment, Doyle sat back down on the bed. Still crying, he pulled his erection out over his waistband and - with an eye on the stairs to make sure the vampire didn't catch him - began to rub himself vigorously. He was so ready to pop that he came within a couple of swift strokes. He let out a great moan of delayed ecstasy and then fell back onto the bed, breathing heavily. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a few moments to calm down and cool down, to let the tears stop flowing, before he put on the rest of his clothes and went back up to the office.

********

He entered the office from the stairwell - fully dressed - just as Cordelia walked back through the front door, carrying a box. Her smile was wide and bright and she flashed it at both her coworkers. "They're in," she announced.

Angel cast a confused look at Doyle and then looked back at Cordy, "OK - what's in?"

"Your cards - your calling cards." She took a small rectangle of stiff paper from the box and held it out, handing it to Angel so he could take a look. "to leave with people so they know how to contact you," she explained.

"Great idea!" Doyle grinned enthusiastically and went to stand beside Cordelia, taking a card from her and looking at it. He glanced back at Angel, "it's not like folks have a signal they can shine in the sky whenever they need help, you know?"

Angel watched him: standing next to Cordy; smiling at her; trying to impress her; pretending he was a man and not a little bitch. He liked her, he wanted to be with her - be her man... as if a bitch could be a man. But he was pretending not to be a bitch, pretending he hadn't just made a little whore of himself downstairs when he sucked Angel's cock and begged him to fuck him. Angel didn't know how Cordelia could not know what had happened - how she could not notice Doyle's lips swollen and bruised from hard kissing, or see the tracks his tears of humiliation had left on his cheeks, or smell the salt and the sweat and the shame on him. The scents were overwhelming to Angel - but ... human senses, what were you gonna do? He found dark amusement in watching Doyle repress what had happened a moment ago, so he could pretend to be the sort of man Cordelia would date. Cordelia would not want a little bitch.

Angel felt his dick twitch, and realised he had spaced out. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and looked at the card in his hand. "Hey look, there's our number," he said, feigning enthusiasm. He squinted, "right next to a ... Butterfly?"

Cordelia stared at him and then turned expectantly to Doyle.

Doyle made a scoffing sound in the back of his throat, "it's obviously not a butterfly - you _idiot._ "

Oh the little bitch was getting punished for that, later. And come to think of it - how he had he got dressed and up the stairs so quickly? The last Angel had seen him, he was tenting his shorts with his tiny little prick. He'd dealt with the erection quickly - after staying up and unsatisfied for a prolonged period of time. He must have touched it, Angel realised. Once his back was turned, the cockless little whore had touched it to make himself come. He'd be punished for that as well.

Doyle was still talking about the card. "It's a bird - no wait it's an owl. A bird that hunts at night. Brilliant, it's a -"

"It's an Angel" Cordelia interrupted, impatiently.

The men looked at each other, "an angel" Angel nodded his head as if such a thing had been obvious all along.

"Brilliant!" Doyle said again, "so obvious and so clever on so many levels".

But he was not impressing Cordy with his flattery. She tutted in impatience and swatted him on the arm "oh shut up!"

Doyle doubled over in pain and gripped the desk. "Oh jeez..."

Cordelia looked taken aback. "Don't be such a baby, I barely hit you."

But Doyle was moaning in pain, his face was turning red and a vein started to pop at his temple. He stumbled backwards, sending the cards flying, and tumbled to the floor. he lay there, red and gasping and sweating, blinking in agony.

Angel watched him, getting down beside him to check he was OK, "he's having a vision" he explained to Cordy. He was getting ready for business - to deal with whatever this incoming would prove to be. Though he couldn't help but notice that Doyle's vision face was the same face he pulled when he was painfully aroused and begging for sex...

********

Angel was out hunting - and Doyle and Cordelia were left alone at the office, trying to identify whatever demon it was Angel was trying to hunt. They sat together on the sofa, pressed up close as there was not much room, and looked through the books. Doyle turned the leaf of his own weighty tome, his eyes scanned down the page - seeming to scan for anything pertinent. But he wasn't actually paying attention. His eyes were blank and he was actually concentrating on the woman beside him.

She smelled heavenly - and looked even better. Her hair cascaded down over her shoulders in a soft, brown wave and tickled against the bare skin of her arms. He wanted to reach out and stroke her skin - he wanted to lean forward and gently press his lips to her flesh...

But the thought of that sent him into a sudden and very vivid flashback - of earlier - of him naked and weeping, on his knees - his lips clamped around Angel's cock, caressing it, sucking it ... loving it. He felt a bolt of heat crash into his groin, at the memory, and he squirmed uncomfortably, hoping Cordelia did not notice. He stared at the book and tried to stave off more memories: Angel pinching his cock, Angel's fingers tickling his taint, Angel's lips on his, Angel's dick thrusting deep inside of him... He felt another bolt of heat hit his groin and held his breath, trying to suppress the moan that threatened to escape his lips. His memories of being with Angel, being his bitch and loving every moment of it, pushed against the desire he felt for Cordelia - the desire to take her and have her, to be the one to take control, to use his little cock like he was a man, and not a little whore - and he was left confused as to what it was he wanted most.

He had been with more men than he had with women, by this point. He was so young when he discovered his demon half, that he had not racked up many notches on his bed post before his life turned to shit, and opportunities to fuck in downy beds, make love on rainy Sundays or attempt 69s on school nights were suddenly few and far between. But up to that point, he had always assumed he was straight. He _was_ straight. He'd always liked women, only liked women ... and if occasionally he had found himself eyeing up the taller, older boys at school - dwelling too long on what the shower rooms would be like when they were done playing soccer, all that steam... - that was just experimental teenage fantasy. It meant nothing. He was into women. And he'd had women. And he'd loved it - and he wanted more of it, especially with Cordelia. When he pictured the future - an ideal future where he wasn't a demon - he saw himself as a man, with a wife and couple of kids, perfectly satisfied with his lot. That was what he wanted. What he had always wanted.

It wasn't until his debts got out of control and his life had been spiralling down the toilet that he went with his first man. But suddenly, guys were demanding money he didn't have - demanding with menaces, and Doyle had a choice to suck it, fuck it or get his legs broken. So he'd sucked and fucked. Any debt he couldn't pay his way out of, he'd get on his knees and perform a blowie - or down trow and take it in the butt. Whatever the goon threatening him wanted, Doyle would do. And as shameful as he found the situations he found himself in, what was even more shameful was the discovery of how much he enjoyed it - what a natural he was at being submissive, how willing he was to comply with whatever was asked of him. He loved cocks, he loved sucking them, he loved stroking them. He loved taking it up the butt. God, he loved taking it up the butt. He loved it all - and he hated that he loved it, and he was so terribly ashamed and the shame only made him harder - made his ass yawn wide wanting to be filled.

He remembered the last time before he met Angel. He'd been running from a guy he owed money to - a big guy, a scary guy. Only he got cornered in a blind alleyway. By this time, everyone in the underworld knew Doyle put out to pay off - everyone knew he was a little whore. And so the guy had offered him a choice - anal or an ass kicking, broken bones guaranteed. It made Doyle blush to remember how quickly and eagerly he'd pulled down his pants and got down on all fours. And it wasn't just to avoid the beating, or save himself the hospital bills. He'd wanted it. He didn't want to want it - but he did. He'd cried as the man fucked him, but he still came. He'd still loved it.

And now he was Angel's little bitch - and Angel would do whatever he wanted to him, whenever he wanted and Doyle had to struggle not to get hard right there in the office thinking about it. But he still wanted Cordelia. Wanted to kiss her, caress her, make love to her. She would never let him if she knew what he really was - what he really enjoyed. She could never find out, never know that he was a bitch; a dirty little whore; a gleeful and willing sodomite...

Cordelia suddenly made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat - and he glanced at her in alarm, afraid she had somehow managed to read his thoughts. But it wasn't that. She pointed to her book. "God," she said to him, "demons - is there anything more disgusting?"

Oh right. The other secret he was keeping from her.

********

Angel stopped in the doorway and stared at the scene in front of him: Doyle and Cordy asleep on the couch, together, her head resting somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

Doyle looked vulnerable when he was asleep. Not quite as vulnerable as he did when he was forced to strip all his clothes off and stand there naked, to be admired, too embarrassed to make eye contact. Not quite as vulnerable as he did when he stuck his naked ass high in the air and parted his cheeks ready for a fucking ... but still vulnerable enough to make Angel's cock stir in his pants - and want to grab hold of the smaller man, pull him from the sofa, ignoring Cordelia's squeals of surprise and protest, rag his pants off and screw him down on the floor.

It would serve the little bitch right to get fucked in front of Cordelia, to have her see how much he loved being penetrated, to have her see how much pleasure he got from other men's dicks, and how powerless he was with Angel. She wouldn't think him a man then, wouldn't want to fall asleep on him again, once she saw what he was really into.

But their fucking was a secret - and that was on Angel's insistence, not the little bitch's. Cordelia wasn't to know. For one because getting away with it right under her nose was too delicious and two ... because Cordelia might tell Buffy. And as much as Angel got off on Doyle's shame, he did not want his own to be exposed.

So he was just going to have to quash his desire, let the little bitch have his moment - waking up to find a woman lying on him, and work out the frustration of his thwarted desire later. He would pound Doyle's ass all the harder, for not being able to do so now. Plus his little whore still needed punishing for earlier: for daring to pleasure his own cock, and for calling Angel an idiot. Their next session would be a long one, and a hard one, and his little bitch would not forget he was a cockless whore again... and once Angel was done with him, he wouldn't sit down for weeks.

But for now, he had to put all that to one side and get on with the job at hand. He allowed the door to slam shut behind himself - and the noise awoke the cuddling couple on the sofa. Angel watched as they gave each other an awkward glance on waking up, and realising how cosy they'd gotten, and smiled in grim pleasure when Doyle turned his eyes on him - and he saw the guilt, and a little bit of fear in there, at being found in this position.

********

"I know you've been working hard" Angel said to his staff "cooped up in here and I thought - you know - with the night being - you know - young and all, we could go out. the three of us. For fun."

Cordelia glanced at Doyle "or" she said, getting to her feet "we can go home."

"And you can sit in the dark alone" Doyle said to him, smiling. He got to his feet and started to follow Cordy out - but Angel caught his eye and gave him a hard, meaningful look. Doyle ducked his head, and left the office - switching the lights off as he went.

Angel sat at is desk, his feet up on his desk, enjoying the dark and the quiet ... and waited. Sure enough, after a few minutes, he heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs which led between the office and the apartment. Doyle had understood the look. Once he had left Cordelia, he had doubled back on himself and entered the underground apartment through the car park. And now he was coming back to find out what was wanted of him.

He appeared at the top of the stairs. Angel could see him perfectly in the dark - he had the nighttime vision of a nocturnal predator after all.

"Angel- " Doyle said, a questioning note in his voice.

Angel smiled to himself. "I want you to go back downstairs" he said. "You're going to take off all your clothes - every last stitch - and then you're going to bend over the dining table and wait for me. Keep your feet flat on the ground, I want you to reach across and grip hold of the other edge of the table with your hands. You can have a pillow if you like. To rest your head on - something to bite into. I'll be down in a minute."

Doyle nodded and turned to go, without saying anything.

"Oh and Doyle?" He called him back, "keep the lights off, OK? _This_ we're going to do in the dark."

The half demon left, going back downstairs, and Angel stayed where he was - tingling with anticipation, wondering where Doyle was up to on his list of instructions to follow. He closed his eyes and imagined his little bitch stripping his clothes off until he was bare, he imagined him wrapping a protective arm across his hairy, little man tits, or maybe modestly cupping that ridiculous, tiny, little prick - embarrassed and feeling vulnerable at being naked and alone in someone else's home.

He bit his lip and felt the sudden swelling inside his pants, as he imagined a now fully naked Doyle bending himself across the table, gripping the far edge and then just waiting. He would feel ridiculous - Angel guessed. Naked and presented, with no one there to do anything with him; with nothing but hope that it would be Angel who walked in and found him. Angel's dick twitched harder at the thought of Doyle's humiliation if someone else walked into that apartment and saw him like that, before Angel was there with him. As mortifying as being found being fucked by another man would be for Doyle, it would be nothing compared to the sheer awkwardness and embarrassment of someone else finding him and thinking he was offering himself to Angel without being asked. Angel was almost tempted to ring Cordelia and ask her to come back to work. To send her down there ...

But that would blow their secret and then Doyle wouldn't be his bitch any more. So he would have to resist temptation and stick to the original plan.

He waited a bit longer. He knew Doyle would stay in his position as long as it took. He was a good little bitch. A born one. He would feel ridiculous, he would be massively humiliated, that tiny cock might be growing hard - and it would be painful, trapped in by the wood of the table, but Doyle would stay there. All night if necessary.

Not that Angel could wait all night. His own cock was getting too hard to leave it much longer. A little regretful to be ending the anticipation, but too aroused to wait any longer, he got to his feet and went downstairs.

He could see the dining table from the foot of the stairs, and he stopped and enjoyed the view. Doyle - good little bitch that he was - didn't even turn his head when he heard Angel's footsteps. He stayed in position, staring forward, offering his ass up to whatever Angel wanted to do to it.

Never had Angel been so glad of his night vision. He could see the details of Doyle's bare behind, his haunches and hindquarters, as plain as day. He could see the thick fuzz of black hair that clung to his thighs, which crept up towards his crack - and then thinned out, leaving his white buttocks as gleaming and smooth as marble. His little, white ass seemed to shine in the darkness. His little bottom was so smooth and so rounded and so plump and so _deliciously_ fuckable.

He could smell the arousal on Doyle, knew his little bitch knew he was there - knew he was looking at him- and was getting turned on at being so shamefully exposed. That round bottom began to bob up and down, Doyle was starting to grind his hips, hump at the table in excited anticipation of what was to come. He wanted a cock in his hole - Angel could feel his longing on the air.

But that was not what Angel had brought him here to do. Not tonight. Tonight was punishment. The little bitch had to pay for his crimes. He unbuckled his belt and slid it from his waist, then he crossed to the table, put the belt down where Doyle could just about see it and put his hands on Doyle's buttocks. He began to massage his ass, gently, and Doyle moaned in pleasure.

"You want me to fuck you, don't you, little whore?" He squeezed his butt tighter.

Doyle moaned again. "Yes. Please."

"You like it when I fuck you, don't you?"

"I love it," his hips continued to gyrate, his butt thrust up and down in Angel's hands. "Please fuck me. Please fuck me."

Angel slid a finger between Doyle's crack and traced a circle around his hole. "You asked me to split you in two. Remember that?"

Doyle exhaled, a gasping thready breath. "Yes." He squeezed his eyes shut as the massaging of his bottom and the tickling of his hole made his little cock throb. He always put the word 'little' in front of 'cock' when he thought of his manhood now. His pitiful manhood. Ever since Angel had started making fun of it. It excited him - to have such a little cock and such a perfect hole for fucking. It was what made him a bitch instead of a man. He loved being a bitch.

"Do you still want me to?" Angel asked, "do you still want me to split you in two?"

"Please. Oh please god yes. Angel. Now."

Angel removed his hands - Doyle let out a yelp of disappointment and thrust his butt out further, offering it up. "I wish I could" Angel told him, his voice was sad - disappointed. "But you've been bad, little bitch. And you need to be taught a lesson."

"I- " Doyle opened his eyes and flicked them sideways, taking the belt in for the first time. He swallowed. "What are you going to do?"

"You need to be punished" he picked the belt up, now he knew Doyle had seen it.

"No, please" - he thrust his bare ass out even further - as if thinking he could tempt Angel; persuade him not to punish him by offering up his willing butt.

"Feet flat on the floor" Angel commanded, "stop wiggling that fat, whore's bottom at me. It won't save you."

The butt lowered as Doyle's feet replanted on the floor.

Angel reached out and stroked the gleaming, white buttocks again - enjoying how flawless they were ... for now. His voice became a soft croon. "We don't have to, little whore. You can stand up, put your clothes on, be a man again and walk out of here - punishment free. But I'll never fuck you again if you do. And that's a promise. If you walk out, you're not my bitch any more."

Doyle groaned.

Angel grinned. The arousal curled off Doyle in streams - and Angel knew the answer to his question before he even asked it. "So what's it gonna be? Are you gonna stay?"

Doyle whimpered and then nodded. "I'll stay."

"Why?" He loved making Doyle say it.

"I'm your bitch."

_"And?"_

"I love it when you fuck me."

"Good." He snapped the belt. "Feel free to bite down on the pillow... _This_ is for calling me an idiot." He raised the belt and then swung it down, flogging Doyle's bare behind as hard as he could, leaving a red mark where the buckle bit against his flesh.

Doyle squealed - like a fat, little piggy - his whole body thrust forward under the force of the belt and that crushed his little, erect cock hard into the table. He squealed again. Angel lashed him again. He squealed again. Every lash caused his naked body to jolt, his hips to crash further into the table. His rounded ass quivered in the air, stinging and red. Angel spanked him again. And again. The belt hit harder, the buckle biting his tender flesh - leaving a pattern of red marks all across what had been smooth alabaster.

Lash, jolt, pale ass quivering in the dark, tears. Lash, jolt, pale ass quivering in the dark, tears. Lash, jolt, pale ass quivering in the dark, tears.

When Doyle's butt was covered in the red marks and Doyle himself was crying out and sobbing - in a mixture of pain and humiliation - Angel finally lowered the belt. "OK - are you sorry, Doyle?"

Doyle nodded, he was biting into his pillow.

"Have you learned a lesson?"

He nodded again.

"Do you promise not to call me names again? A little bitch like you can't call a man names."

"I promise" Doyle cried. His ass felt like it was on fire, it was stinging and burning, and he bit down on the pillow to stop himself from screaming.

Angel smiled. "Good." He raised the belt again. "Now this is for touching your cock..."

The belt slammed into Doyle's already tender and bruised flesh - lash, jolt, pale ass quivering in the dark - and the half demon let the pillow drop from between his teeth and screamed ...

When Angel's arm began to tire, when Doyle's butt was just an angry red mess of bruising and welts and when Doyle was crying inconsolably, having difficulty staying still and taking another single spanking, Angel decided to rein it in. He threaded is belt back onto his pants and then crossed to the kitchen. "Stay there" he said - though he didn't have to, Doyle was in too much pain - sobbing too heavily - to move.

Angel took some Aloe Vera from the fridge, he'd been chilling it ready for this. He put the bowl down on the table, dipped a finger in the cold cream, rubbed it into his palms and then began to massage Doyle's tortured buttocks.

Doyle whimpered, he gasped and panted and his tears began to slow as he felt the soothing cream begin to take effect. His ass no longer felt like it was on fire.

Angel slathered it on thick - keeping his hands gentle, aware of Doyle's body relaxing, his ass cheeks unclenching as Angel tended to his injuries. "Does that feel better?" he asked softly.

Doyle nodded "a little"

"It'll take some time to take full effect."

"mhm" he gave another tight nod.

"What is it?" Angel still kept his voice gentle.

Doyle burst into noisy tears once again. "My cock, my little cock - it's all bruised."

Angel made sympathetic tutting sounds and gently helped Doyle up from his prone position. He turned him around and looked down at Doyle's tiny prick, it was still sticking up - erect - but it was turning red and black from being repeatedly slammed into the table. "Oh dear, that's no good - is it, little bitch? Angel said.

Doyle continued to sob, and shook his head. "It hurts. Angel, it hurts."

"Poor little bitch, poor little baby." He very carefully rubbed some of the soothing aloe onto Doyle's bruised cock and then gently lifted Doyle into his arms. He gave him a very soft kiss on the lips and carried him over to the bed. He lay down and held Doyle curled up against him, cradling the naked man and making sure his sore ass was pointed upward, letting the aloe air dry and not putting any pressure on buttocks agonised by spanking. He held Doyle close and kissed him softly, stroking his skin. "I'm sorry I had to punish you" he said, "but you know why I had to do it?"

Doyle nodded, he was still crying, though not as hard. He curled against Angel and rested his head on the other man's chest. His shame was a fine bouquet for Angel to enjoy - not just the humiliation of the spanking, but the comfort he was receiving; curled naked against another man, being cradled like a baby and kissed and cosseted. And enjoying it. He loved this soft and gentle treatment as much as he loved a hard fucking, Angel could smell his enjoyment, could sense that Doyle would quite happily curl up naked in Angel's lap forever, being stroked and kissed and spoken to gently... and only take a break from it to raise his ass in the air and take it hard.

After he'd held and cuddled Doyle for about half an hour, kissing him and stroking him and murmuring sweet nothings - he finally pulled a little further back - so he could look his bitch in the eye. "How's your sore, little bottom now?" he asked gently, he ran a very gentle hand down Doyle's bare behind. "Feeling any better?"

Doyle nodded and nuzzled closer to Angel. "Its better. it doesn't hurt as much."

"Good" he suddenly flung the naked man out of his lap, so he landed in a heap on the hard, wood floor.

"What -" Doyle started to get up, but Angel was too quick for him. He grabbed hold of his bitch and half dragged, half carried him back to the dining table. Doyle cried out and flailed his naked legs - but to no avail. He could not hope to fight off Angel. Then he found himself back in his prone position, thrown over the dining table, his face pressed into the pillow and his sore and swollen ass exposed and presented, high in the air.

"Remember when you asked me to split you in two?" Angel asked him, using one hand to pin Doyle in place and the other to pull out his own cock.

Doyle nodded.

"Well today's your lucky day."

Doyle whimpered and began to cry again as, held firmly in place, he had no choice but to lie there - bent over - his painful and punished butt cheeks spread wide, his ass already on fire, and await the fucking he had begged for...

********

Cordelia looked up at from her desk and frowned at Doyle. He had been hovering over by the coffee maker all day. "What gives?" she asked irritably. "You've just been standing there for hours. Why don't you sit down?"

Feeling Angel's mocking eyes on him, Doyle blushed a deep shade of crimson, his face burning as much as his ass still did - and didn't know how to answer.


	3. In The Dark - The Gem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel seeks comfort

Doyle was passed out, drunk, on the couch - floating in blissful, black unconsciousness - when the shrill shriek of the telephone pierced the quiet of the air.

"'m up - 'm - mom? 'm getting up..." he mumbled, flinging an arm out towards the source of the noisy disturbance. He lost his balance, and crashed onto the floor. That woke him up properly. He opened his eyes, blinking and cursing and then reached out and picked up the phone. "Yello?" his voice came out as a hoarse croak.

"Doyle."

It was Angel. He sounded serious. "Angel, man - wha's whaddya..." he shook his head and rubbed his eyes, blearily trying to focus. "wassup, man?"

"Are you drunk?"

"No no ... little bit. I was sleeping"

"You're going to come over." There was a slight tremble in Angel's voice. "I _need_ you to come over."

"Right away, man - is something wrong?" There was only a very pointed silence down the end of the line, pointed enough that it managed to cut through the fug of Doyle's drunkenness. "Oh you wanna ...?"

"Bring a change of clothes" Angel said to him. "You're staying the night."

Then he rang off. Doyle blinked again, stared at the receiver in his hand for a few moments and then shrugged. Angel wanted him, so he had no choice but to get his little bitch butt down to the vampire's place and bend over. Even drunk as he was, the thought sent a pleasurable charge of warmth down to his groin and a tantalising ache began to build in his balls.

It was a struggle, in the dark, his head swimming, his thoughts confused and his eye sight out of focus, gathering together a change of clothes - so he could stay the night and not have Cordy realise anything had happened. He tripped over his feet more than once and cussed liberally every time he did. But in the end he had something like a wearable outfit and he shoved it in a bag and then stumbled his way to the door, the excitement growing hotter and stronger with every step he took towards Angel's place.

********

Angel sat at his dining table. He had a glass of scotch in front of him - the full bottle standing at his elbow. But he hadn't actually drunk anything yet, he just nursed it - brooding.

His mind was dwelling on the gem, hidden in the sewer tunnels for now. It brought up a lot of emotions in him, emotions he hadn't expected to feel. Not today. One minute it was a completely ordinary day and them wham - he had a reminder of Sunnydale, a reminder of Buffy right in front of him - and it cut into him deep. An unexpected impact that he had not looked or hoped for.

It was hard enough just to be reminded of Buffy. Not that he really needed reminding, he saw her everywhere - saw her face in everything, heard her voice, her laughter - every blonde girl in L.A, every damsel saved was a knife to his heart, reminding him of what he couldn't have. It took a lot of self control to live with the echoes of Buffy all around him and not give in to temptation and go back to her, or feed on a human... or fall on a stake. And when the temptation was too great and his self control was waning ... then the only thing that could keep him balanced was Doyle's round ass, bare and presented for him, his hole exposed and waiting - aching with longing just as much as Angel ached. If he didn't have Doyle, didn't have him to fuck, didn't have him to suck and tease and humiliate, and smell just how much the little bitch was getting off on it, he didn't know how he would withstand this separation from Buffy.

But today the separation was made even worse. Cordelia had laid out the problem in her own insensitive and unthinking way: _"and she didn't even send a note?"_

That hurt. It stung him in his very soul, though he had tried to remain taciturn and stoic in front of the others. It was bad enough Buffy had sent the ring with someone else, hadn't come to see him herself - but it really hurt that she didn't even send greetings or a message. She wanted him to have the ring, but she didn't want to have to bring it. It was so impersonal - a gift sent through a third party. That things could ever be impersonal between him and Buffy ... it hurt. He had to admit it. It hurt more than he would like.

And there was more than just the coldness of Buffy troubling him, the ring itself was worth at least 47% of his brooding alone. He knew what that gem meant, the powers that gem would give him ... he didn't deserve them. He didn't deserve to walk in the sunlight and live among the real people. He was a creature of darkness, he belonged in the shadows - and if he wore that ring, if he let himself forget ... then there was no telling where it would end, but he didn't think he would find his redemption in the harsh light of day - going to the luncheon buffets at strip clubs with Doyle.

And that thought had led him to his little bitch. His coquettish little whore who made everything easier just by presenting a willing and warm hole to fuck. So he had rung Doyle, demanded his presence - and now he waited for his little sissy sex slave to turn up and help divert his mind from its dark contemplations with his deliciously fuckable arse and his swollen, kissable lips. But until Doyle got here - he was still brooding. Still nursing that glass of scotch and feeling hard done to.

He looked up as he heard the door to his underground apartment slide open, and sighed with relief as he smelt the familiar scent of alcohol, demon, human, sex and shame that always swirled around Doyle, clinging to him like a miasma. His little bitch was here. Thank God - he needed to get out of his head, and the best way to get out of his head was to bury himself balls deep in Doyle's butt.

"Hey, Angel, man" Doyle slurred his words, and he stumbled as he came into view, tripping up over his own feet. He dropped his overnight bag on the floor. "I'm here." He unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down. His tiny little penis was visible for the briefest arousing moment, and then he had bent himself over the table - his ass thrust out ready to be taken. "'m ready..." he mumbled.

He pressed is face into the wood of the table's surface and began to giggle. "Fuck me."

Angel stared at him. It wasn't that the pale, rounded buttocks bent over and raised in the air, just for him, weren't turning him on. They were. He didn't know why he found this short, hairy man with his beer belly, frail arms and little pigeon tits so deeply arousing and erotic. But he did. It must be the willingness, and his lips and the shame of wanting it so badly - of giving himself to other men to be fucked like a whore, and loving every moment. Doyle did things to Angel, his ass in particular ... it made everything stir, it made him harden - just the thought of it, never mind the sight of it, right there - starting to thrust up and down.

But he wasn't in the mood for Doyle not to take this seriously. And the drunk man wiggling his ass in the air and giggling was not taking this seriously. So the fucking would have to wait.

"You're drunk" Angel said to him.

"Yep - was celebrating your good news ... too much celebrating." He wiggled his bare bottom at Angel again, "I can still fuck though. Fuck me."

"No." He sighed in frustration. "Doyle - pull your pants up for god's sake. Go sit on the couch. I'll get you a glass of water."

"I wanna fuck. You got me all the way down here to fuck." Once more he thrust his butt out at Angel. He reached an arm round and gripped his butt cheek, spreading it wide to better expose his hole. "You know you want it." But he was too drunk, and now only resting on one arm, it failed to take his weight and he collapsed face first into the table. "Ow." He began to giggle again.

Angel pinched the bridge of his nose tightly and sighed with frustration. "Listen to me, you dirty little whore," he said between gritted teeth. "I wanted to fuck you - but I don't wanna fuck you when you're like this. And as you are supposed to be at my disposal to fuck however I please, _whenever_ I please, you are currently failing in your duties as my secret little bitch. So unless you want me to tan the hide from that plump ass you keep waving at me and then tell Cordelia what it is you really like, then you're gonna pull up them damn pants and go sit on the sofa while I try and sober you up."

Doyle grumbled. He pouted, sticking out his lower lip in a way that made Angel want to bite it. But the vampire shook his head. "It's no fun when you're drunk. You lose your sense of shame. I want you ashamed. I want you humiliated and weeping - mortified to be a whore, and even worse - a whore that loves being one. Go sit down. I'll get you some water. Maybe once you've sobered up you'll be embarrassed about the shameless way you just behaved. It was disgusting." He snorted in impatient disgust and turned his back on the drunken slut in his living area and went to fetch him a glass of water, vaguely aware of Doyle standing up straight and pulling his pants back up.

Angel felt a twinge of regret at the thought of those pale, round, beautiful buttocks being hidden inside Doyle's pants - along with his ridiculous little cock - but he didn't want to fuck a little bitch that laughed all the way through their pounding. Bitches didn't laugh. They cried.

By the time he returned to the couch, with the drink in his hand, Doyle was laid out on it, head resting on a cushion, snoring deeply. He was so drunk he'd passed out.

Angel put the glass down and gazed for a long time at the sleeping, smaller man. His eyes were hungry. Just like last time, Angel noted how vulnerable Doyle looked when he slept. It made the vampire's dick twitch. The half demon would look at lot more vulnerable naked, as well as asleep - and Angel felt his dick harden, growing into life with excitement at the thought.

He crossed to the couch, shifted Doyle slightly so he could sit beside him and then leaned down and gently brushed Doyle's lips with his own - feather light so as not to wake him. He reached out a hand and gently stroked Doyle's face, caressing his cheek - and then went in for another barely there kiss.

Doyle's lips were warm, they tasted of whisky. Angel kissed him again - and then dropped his kisses lower, to Doyle's throat - where a pulse pounded away, like beating butterfly wings beneath his skin.

Carefully, willing his hands to go slowly and methodically - despite their urgent need to just pull the whole thing off - he began to unbutton Doyle's shirt. Once it was completely unfastened, he stripped it off the sleeping man. Doyle didn't even stir.

His hands were starting to shake now, as they travelled south to Doyle's pants. The drunken man had not bothered to fasten them or buckle up his belt, after he had been told to pull his pants up, made to put his cock and arse away. Angel felt the desire and excitement rise inside of him like warmth as he began to tug and pull his pants back down - getting his cock and arse out once again. He had to stop to yank off Doyle's shoes, but then he successfully pulled the pants free of his feet.

Doyle murmured in his sleep, shifting a little before going still again. He now wore only his y-fronts, tank top and socks. He looked so ridiculously vulnerable, and so ball achingly desirable that Angel had to stop stripping him in order to drop another feather light kiss on his lips. He pulled back and stared again - wondering which half to strip next, which half to expose first.

He was going to leave the best 'til last, take the tank top off first ... but then he found he couldn't wait, and slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of Doyle's y fronts. Carefully, he began to pull them down, manipulating them over Doyle's legs and then over his feet without once disturbing the sleeping man. Then he let out a slow and excited exhalation of deep longing as he turned his eyes to the private parts between Doyle's legs.

With his tank top still on, Doyle was encased in white cotton to the waist, and his pale flesh was only exposed from his hips down. A thick strip of dark hair ran from the centre of the tank top, the trail from beneath his belly button - leading down to the forest of thick, curling dark hair which covered his groin. And nestled in the nest of short, black curls was that tiny, pink prick.

Angel had rarely seen Doyle flaccid. Just the act of taking his clothes off in front of Angel usually left him as hard as a bitch with a joke for a cock could get. But now, drunk and sleeping, there was no life in the little thing and it hung limply between his legs, even smaller than Angel was used to. Like he had kissed Doyle's lips, Angel lowered his head and brushed a soft kiss onto Doyle's cock - half wanting to see if he could get a rise out of it, half just wanting to love this little manhood and enjoy this moment with it.

Doyle stirred - but his cock didn't. Maybe he had drunk too much. Angel kissed again, moving his head slightly he flicked his tongue out and licked Doyle's balls. Doyle had nice balls - firm and well balanced, the dark fuzz of his hair clinging to his sack. The roundness and size of his balls almost made up for the weenyness of his prick. But then a bitch didn't need a big prick, couldn't have one. It was better for Doyle that his cock was this small. His winky. That's what it was - a wee little winky. To call such a pink and silly thing a 'manhood' would be an offence to men. Lucky thing Doyle was just a little bitch.

He kissed the winky again, and then turned his head to the side, dropping hot kisses onto Doyle's thighs. The black fuzz was thick here too, it clung to his thighs, grew thickly between his legs and crept around his balls, back to his taint and then up ... to the most perfect hole a man had ever fucked. Angel felt a sudden overwhelming surge of luck, that it was him who got to fuck that hole.

His hands reached out, and he pushed up Doyle's tank top, so it exposed his belly and chest all the way up to just above his nipples. He dropped a final kiss on his cock and then licked up the trail of hair to his belly button. His hands massaged the roundness of Doyle's beer belly, squishing it, then they slid further up - towards his weirdly protruding nipples. His lips followed his hands, placing hot kisses all over Doyle's skin, pressing through the thick hair that covered his entire body. And then Angel sucked on Doyle's left nipple, kissing and suckling and teasing it with his teeth.

His hands kept stroking his skin, feeling the courseness of his body hair between his fingers. He pulled back from Doyle's nipple and kissed all the way back down to his little, pink cock - and then all the way back up again.

His dick was throbbing in his pants now - even if Doyle's remained flaccid and harmless. He wanted to fuck - but he couldn't fuck Doyle when he was asleep - he wanted the little bitch to say 'yes'. He always wanted him to say 'yes'. So he pulled back, tugged open his pants and took out his own cock, holding it firmly in one hand.

Letting his left hand explore Doyle's legs and trace its own way up to Doyle's warm hole, he gripped his own dick and began to rub it - hard and firm; long, gliding motions from base to tip and back again. He kept his eyes fixed on Doyle: his naked chest; his slightly splayed legs; his little pink winky nestling in its thatch of hair. He thought about the winky getting hard as he rubbed his own, much larger, dick. How small it would still be when it was erect, how pointless it was - too little for a man, too big for a bitch. That's why Doyle couldn't touch his own cock - Angel's bitch didn't have one, had to live his life like a cockless little whore - ignoring the swelling, groaning agony of his own arousal and only getting his satisfaction from being penetrated.

He remembered that tiny little prick all red and bruised after Angel had spanked Doyle. He remembered Doyle's bottom swollen and bruised as well - and Doyle crying. He remembered cradling him, as he sobbed, and hushing him; cosseting him and kissing him and calling him baby ... and smelling just how much Doyle like to be held in his lap and cradled and comforted.

God Doyle was the perfect bitch. The perfect whore. it was what he was born to do and he did it so perfectly - just look at him lying there - so helpless and vulnerable and delicious and ready to be fucked...

Angel's right hand worked faster and faster, rubbing harder and harder. He didn't take his eyes off Doyle - his left hand kept circling in the darkness beneath Doyle's legs and then - just as he slid his left forefinger deep into Doyle's warm hole, he reached his own climax and with a great and relieved bellow felt the juices spurt out from his manhood.

He stayed where he was for a while, recovering. He would be getting his breath back - except he didn't breathe. And then, when he felt calmer and cooler, he pulled Doyle's tank top down so he was covered to the waist once again, picked the half naked man up and carried him to the bed. He stripped his own clothes off then and got in next to his little bitch, curling his body around Doyle's much smaller one and holding him as he slept.

Doyle had not stirred once this whole time.

********

When Doyle woke up it was to find himself in a soft bed that was not his own, naked from the waist down - except for his socks, and with something hard pressing into the small of his back. He opened a bleary eye and peered down, seeing the muscular arm wrapped around his body - and then he understood. He was lying in bed, wrapped in Angel's arms, and the hard something at his back was Angel's excitement.

Angel must have stripped him, because he had no memory of taking his clothes off. He didn't know how come he still had his tank top and socks on ... but it wasn't a bitch's place to question. He wore what Angel wanted him to. And Angel must have carried him to the bed as well, as the last place he remembered being was the couch. He squirmed in enjoyable embarrassment, feeling the heat flood his groin, as he imagined being held, helpless, in Angel's arms, and carried across the room - laid down to bed, kissed as he slept. He wriggled again in pleasurable discomfort at the thought of Angel's eyes on his body, looking at him, touching him, when he was completely unaware.

He didn't know if they'd had sex - he had no recollection of sex, but that was what he had been brought over for, so it would make sense if they had. But waking up wrapped in Angel's strong arms, starting the day naked together, being held and spooned - it was turning him on. If they'd had sex, he still wanted more. Sex he didn't remember didn't count.

He didn't want to move, didn't want to turn over or do anything to pull himself from Angel's embrace. He'd never woken up in the strong arms of a man before, and he found, as he did with all things when it came to men and sex and affection, that he loved it. His face flushed. He shouldn't love it. He remembered _being_ the man. Being the big spoon, being the one to wrap his arms around a smaller body. He loved that too. But he liked it this way just as much. And this way came with an added thrill, a frisson, the hot shame that aroused him so deeply as he so gleefully let his body be degraded and used by other men. If he didn't think he shouldn't like this, he wouldn't enjoy it half as much ... he didn't know what that said about him. It's not like he cared if other men were gay, as far as he was concerned they could do what they liked and it was no one's business but their own. But when it came to him... he wasn't supposed to like it. He was dirty and wrong and shameful for liking it. And that only turned him on all the more. It was probably something to do with a strict Catholic upbringing.

He blushed bright crimson at the thought of going to confession and telling a priest about all this.

Maybe it was because he was a demon. He'd only started taking it up the butt and discovering how much he liked it and how good he was at it once his demon side presented. Maybe the two things were connected.

And now he discovered that he didn't only like rough, sweaty sex and forced stripping and spankings and giving blow jobs - he liked cuddling with men too, lying in their arms and spooning. So he didn't want to do anything to dislodge himself from Angel's embrace. But he wanted - desperately wanted - Angel to fuck him. Having started this morning naked - or weirdly half naked with socks on - in a man's bed, he wanted to continue it with a hard cock in his hole.

So he tried to get Angel's attention the only way it seemed possible without either speaking and ruining the moment, or moving - he began to nudge backwards with his butt, thrusting his stripped bare bottom backwards into Angel's body - gently at first, and then more insistent. Lying on his side, nudging a man with his naked butt to get him to have sex with him, he felt himself flood with shame at the sudden realisation of what a brazen little whore he was - but that only made him more aroused. His own little cock began to harden and he nudged more and more urgently at Angel.

Eventually, there was a movement behind him. He felt Angel stir; his hand, the one not draped across Doyle, came up under the covers and started to fondle Doyle's thrusting bare buttocks and he chuckled into Doyle's ear. "Is there something you want, little whore?" he whispered. "Is there a reason you're bothering me with your fat, little bottom?"

Doyle whimpered, feeling himself grow harder and having to clutch both his hands to Angel's arm to stop himself from touching himself. "Angel, please."

The hand draped across Doyle crept under his top and rested on the smaller man's chest and began to rub his skin softly and sensuously, especially around his protruding little man tits. All the while Angel's other hand fondled and massaged Doyle's ass. Doyle felt himself gripped in place by both exploring, titillating hands. His legs kicked involuntarily and he whimpered again.

"Ask" Angel said to him.

"Please."

"Nuhuh" he leaned over, squeezing both his hands harder and nibbled on Doyle's ear. "Say it. Tell me what you want."

Doyle blushed and moaned. "You know."

"But I like to hear it. I like to make you say it." He lowered his hand from Doyle's chest and let it wander south, over his belly and down between his legs - where he found the hardened little winky. He grinned and took hold of it between his thumb and forefinger right at the tip and tweaked it hard. Doyle squealed - high pitched. Angel laughed. "Oh I like that sound. Let's see if I can make you make it again." He pinched again. Doyle squealed again - even higher this time. Angel laughed louder. "you know what you sound like?" he asked. "When you squeal like that? A bitch. A ripe little bitch. You shriek and squeal like a bitch. Why?" he tweaked once more.

Doyle squealed again. "I am a bitch!" he cried. "Your bitch". He nudged his butt harder against Angel. "I'm not a man at all, I'm just a little bitch. Please."

"Say it."

"Fuck me."

"Why?"

"Because I need it." He regretted it the moment the words were out of his mouth.

Angel stopped tweaking his winky in surprise. "Need it?"

Doyle nodded his head and though Angel couldn't see his face he could smell the salt tears of Doyle's shame. He hadn't meant to say that - and now he was crying. But he nodded, admitting to it. "I need it. Always."

Angel stopped stroking the other man's bottom - and gave it a quick slap. "OK then."

Doyle started to move, getting to his knees - ready to put himself on all fours for Angel. But the vampire reached out and pulled him back down into the bed so he was lying on his back. "No."

"Angel please"

Angel laughed again. "Not no to sex. No to you on all fours like an animal." He leaned down and kissed Doyle, "not that I don't love it when you're like that. But not today. Today I wanna look at you while I fuck you."

Doyle looked unsure, he shifted under Angel's weight. "I don't - I mean, I've never ..."

Angel kissed him again. "You've never looked a man in the eye when he's been inside of you before?"

Doyle turned his head on the pillow, so he wasn't looking at Angel, before he shook it. he was bright red, even the tips of his ears were burning. Angel nuzzled into his neck. "Have you ever done anything with a man that you haven't enjoyed yet?" he asked him.

Still refusing to look, Doyle bit his lip and shook his head again.

"Then you'll love this." He kissed his throat and then his shoulder. "I promise. Look at me."

Doyle turned his head back, so he was resting flat on his back once again, and reluctantly made eye contact with Angel. Angel rested his forearm just beside Doyle's face, leaning his weight on it and leaned down to kiss Doyle - deeply, passionately, tenderly. Doyle began to kiss him back, hungry mouths grasping at each other, claiming each other.

Angel pulled back. "Now spread your legs, little whore - as far as they'll go."

There was a long moment where they looked into each other's eyes and Doyle didn't move. And then, he broke contact and splayed out his legs - staring at the ceiling and not at Angel. Angel pulled back as far as he could, to admire Doyle's perfect hole as it came into view. He reached out and swiped a pillow from the top of the bed. "here, put this under your butt, it'll make it easier."

While Doyle rearranged himself, Angel grabbed the lube from the night stand. He squirted some into his hand and then reached down between Doyle's legs - ignoring his erect cock and his balls, he reached to the place where Doyle's buttocks opened. "Look at me" he said. He didn't start applying the lube until he had eye contact. He could see the struggle Doyle was having with himself, to keep on looking into Angel's eyes while the vampire had his fingers inside of him - knowing soon it would be his cock. It was different, making eye contact, looking each other in the face. With Doyle bent over, whatever happened to him was behind him - he was detached from it even as a cock tickled his prostate and made him squeal. What he couldn't see wasn't real.

But now, looking Angel in the face, his legs spread wide and waiting to be made love to rather than fucked - there was no detaching himself from it, there was no pretending it was happening to someone else or that it was just because he was a demon and had nothing to do with his human half. This was what he wanted with Cordelia - except he would be the one on the top - and yet here he was, in what should be her position. He flushed - the burning heat filling him from his toes to his brow and he knew he must be bright red. His breathing was shallow and his heart was racing in his chest - because he knew Angel was right, he knew he was going to love this - same as he loved everything else Angel did to him, and he didn't know he could ever go back to being the man - to making love to a woman, to Cordelia - after this. He would always remember what it was to lie on his back, spread his legs and be penetrated, and love it. He was afraid any woman he ever touched from here on out would be able to tell - what he was, what he liked.

This was the last of his manhood draining away, after this there would be nothing but the bitch. And he was as eager for it as he was ashamed and embarrassed. But his hole ached to be filled, his erection throbbed against his belly and he knew he wasn't going to walk out. He was going to lie there and take it - because he needed it.

For Angel, watching the conflict on Doyle's face was delicious. His shame was a fragrant treat to the senses. Just looking at him - lying there, humiliated and aroused, was an exquisite form of foreplay. The vampire lowered his head and brushed his lips against Doyle's - as lightly as he had kissed him while the other man slept. "are you ready?" he asked, his voice husky.

Doyle nodded.

"Are you sure?"

Doyle nodded again, though he struggled to keep eye contact and tears welled up, threatening to fall.

"Say it."

"I'm ready" there was a catch in his breath. "I want you to make love to me."

Angel kissed him again, harder and more passionate. He pressed his body against Doyle's so their naked skin lay flush against each other and began to grind, letting his hands explore the acres of Doyle's bare flesh, slide up under his tank top and massage his nipples. And then he took hold of his own cock in his left hand and thrust it - more gently than usual - inside Doyle. They were still for a moment - Doyle tensed up, gasping - and they waited, gazing into each other's eyes. And then Doyle breathed out, deeply, relaxing - and Angel thrust again.

They went slower than normal. Doyle wrapped his legs around Angel's body, trying to pull the vampire closer to him, pulling him deeper inside of himself. They only broke eye contact to kiss.

"Is this good?" Angel murmured.

Doyle only whimpered, and Angel felt his little bitch's muscles contract around his own cock, trying to pull the cock deeper still.

"You like it?"

Doyle raised his head from the pillow, his hungry mouth finding Angel's to kiss. "I love it."

"Do you want me to go harder?"

Doyle nodded, collapsing against the pillow once more.

Angel thrust into him. He could feel Doyle's erect little cock, his ridiculous pink winky, pressed between them - and could tell from the way it twitched that the friction of their bodies pressed together was giving the little bitch pleasure. And then he felt the pressure begin to mount; in his balls and flooding into his shaft, welling up like a dam about to break. Beneath him, Doyle was gasping; bucking and writhing like a man possessed. "Please, please, please" the little bitch breathed out his desperate mantra. 

And then just as Doyle cried out, in excruciating, toe curling pleasure, Angel felt the dam burst - and he reached his own climax, bellowing out and then slumping down - worn out and spent - on top of Doyle.

They lay there like that for a still moment which seemed to last a breathless eternity. The perspiration was slick on their skin, gleaming and salty. And then Angel caressed Doyle's face and kissed him on the lips. "That was good?"

"It was good."

They kissed again.

And then Angel rolled off his little bitch and lay on his back, panting. "You should go in the shower" he said. "Cordelia will be here soon. Go in the shower. Get dressed. And then go up to the office before she arrives. Make sure she doesn't suspect anything. Distract her, so she doesn't realise I'm late." 

"How do I do that?"

Angel rolled his head on the pillow so he was looking at Doyle. "Pretend you're hungover."

********

Once Doyle was showered, dressed and gone, Angel took a long, cold shower of his own. After this morning's session, he was going to have to do some serious Tai Chi to get his equilibrium back. 


End file.
